Chocolate Malts
by writergirl2003
Summary: Amber is tired of living in her mother's firm clutch, and discovers that the taste of liberation is sweet.


**This is just something short I imagined and typed up in a total of about twenty minutes. It's short, and kinda sweet, and was created mainly out of my own boredom.** **You know the lyric this is based on, and all that jazz. Enjoy!**

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_I never drank one chocolate malt, no deserts for Miss Baltimore Crabs_

It wasn't that some of those things weren't important to her. She was the first to admit that she liked the glamorous dresses and pretty hairstyles that her mother insisted she wear. It was just that, deep inside, she _knew_ they weren't all there was to life. She knew that with or without her make-up on, she was the same person. With or without her expensive jewelry, she was still herself; still Amber Von Tussle. Her mother didn't know what to do without fur wrapped around her shoulders, or expensive leather handbags dangling from her manicured fingertips.

She had never let herself say anything to her mother about it, because it seemed that without the goal of getting Amber to the top of _everything_, she had no aspirations. Amber knew that Velma still prided herself on her Miss Baltimore Crabs title, but what was that, really? There had been dozens of other winners since her reign, and aside from the glory in their mind, they had been forgotten. They weren't asked to appear in parades, or sign autographs at department store openings. They were just past winners, nothing more, nothing less.

Amber would roll her eyes when her mother chastised her for losing anything, much less a contest, or Link. She hated the fact that even now, her mother still felt the need to care for her only daughter like she was an infant. She would tell her exactly what to do, and when to do it, and Amber had always played along, because it seemed to make her happy, but no longer.

She had always waited for the right time to rebel against the irreconcilable force that was Velma Von Tussle. She'd lain awake at night, hatching plans in her head that would bring her mother to tears, infuriate her. She wanted her to see that she was no longer in her control, and that even at seventeen, she could take care of herself. She'd been doing it practically her whole life, since Velma had taken the liberty to dedicate both of their lives to getting ahead of everyone else. She'd never been happy when Amber had won second place in contests in grammar school, never hugged her daughter when she'd won runner-up in beauty pageants. Second place wasn't good enough; runner-up was just a fancy term for loser. And though, deep in her heart, Amber knew it, it hurt not to be comforted; not to be loved like the other girls were.

She'd never dare say it, but she resented the relationship that Velma had forced them to have. She couldn't look forward to getting her hair fixed at the salon with her mother, because she knew it wasn't a pleasant event. It wasn't chatting about boys while flipping through fashion magazines; it was primping for another beauty pageant, and learning how to cheat your way to the top.

It hurt Amber that she couldn't be herself around her, but she had grown accustomed to the idea of putting on a show for others. She'd been doing it her entire life, and the person that Amber feigned to be for her mother's sake, was the person everyone knew. It was the person who smiled flirtatiously at the boys and scowled at the girls. That's the way it went, and though she knew it would be a difficult task, she knew she had to change.

Although it was wonderfully dramatic to plan fantastic revolts in her mind, she knew it wouldn't work in reality. She needed to start smaller; needed to teach her mother that she could be her own woman. She could stand on her own two feet, and that if she had a problem, she could fix it with the brain that was inside her heavily made-up head. She needed to show her that she knew she wasn't the kind of woman she wanted to be, and that Velma Von Tussle didn't control her any longer; couldn't, even if she wanted to.

And so, the liberation of Amber Von Tussle began with one simple request to a man behind the counter in a small store: one chocolate malt.


End file.
